Posting to get this set up.
It has been three days since you left Elidir, climbing into the back of one of Bort Bargith’s wagons bound for the faraway Andoran capital of Almas. The gregarious caravan master offered to cut your travel cost to only a handful of coppers, so long as you promised to protect the wagons should any trouble arise. It was an easy deal to take, as the roads are not well-known for being dangerous.
Your first couple of days on the journey are relatively uneventful. Once out of the perimeter of the city, the scenery slowly started to change to rolling hills, small rural communities, and little farmsteads here and there along the trail. It’s been raining on and off throughout the journey, making more than one night feel just a little bit miserable.
You’ve been sharing the cramped wagon with Cooky, an old, gruff elven man who seems to prefer the company of his stove to any that you can provide; a pair of goofy twin brothers, Olf and Ulf Redfren who trade off driving the wagon with the caravan throughout the day; and finally, the other travelers who signed on to the caravan with you in Elidir.
On this fourth morning of your journey, the rich smell of damp earth and the scent of Cooky’s savory breakfast porridge mingle pleasantly to waft its way through the caravan’s camp and tickle your nose as you awaken, some of you within the wagon, others scattered underneath and around the wagon.
Bort’s second-in-command, Tamli Grent, an imposing half-orc woman; and Grunda Grapeleaf, a gnomish teamster, are all going through their own morning routines near the front of the caravan with a finesse that speaks of years of practice on the road together. Bort himself is busy checking the tightness of the ropes holding down several large parcels and chatting idly with Gregor, the caravan’s carpenter.
”Food’s done!” calls the gruff voice of Cooky, who is already blowing on a spoonful of the porridge which is laced with herbs, dried meats, and a sprinkling of cheese - simple, but comforting.
Inniska was early to rise, never sleeping particularly deeply. She'd claimed a corner of the wagon to sleep in, curling up with her back to the sides. The hard sleeping surface didn't bother her. It wasn't the first time she'd had to go without a bed.
Try as she might, she hadn't been able to hide her jumpiness the first couple days. Sleeping outdoors at night was clearly not something she was used to, and every little animal sound had her on edge. She'd learned to watch others' reactions to things and judge the danger from there. The screaming fox sounds last night, for example, would likely have sent her into a fit had she heard them the first day out, but she saw the others were unperturbed and masked her worry, asking casually what the noise had been.
She combed her hair out with her fingers a bit, untangling it. She knew she must look a mess after a few days' travel. Such poor grooming would have gotten her hide tanned back at the manor, but these folk didn't seem to notice or mind.
Putting on her friendliest smile, she climbed out of the wagon, stepping carefully over anyone else still abed. She wore a long, simple grey skirt and a white blouse with a grey bodice overtop, all spun from linen. It was her nicest 'ordinary' dress, the one she usually wore for festival days. No fraying edges or tears. She had a nicer dress tucked away in her pack, one she wore when her mistress had wanted her to appear as a noblewoman. A noble could afford their own carriage, though, so she hadn't tried to pass as one on this journey.
She made her way to Cooky, accepting a bowl of the porridge, which was miles better than what she normally got to eat. She thanked him and took a seat on a nearby fallen log, minding her manners as she ate, in spite of an urge to wolf it all down. She'd very much kept to herself the first couple of days, but had come out of her shell a bit in the last day or so, making idle chit chat with the caravan workers. She had not yet conversed much with her fellow travelers, though she found the little beast android fascinating, and had to stop herself from staring when he wasn't looking.
Finoan hears Cooky's call as he is making another circuit around the caravan's perimiter. He appears from a distance to perhaps be a Catfolk - though he is much shorter than that ancestry normally is. He may also pass for a Shoony except that his features are a bit too feline for that.
Those who take a closer look quickly notice that he is definitely neither of those. He has glassy, gem-like eyes. What passes for skin and fur is soft and flexible, but is definitely not skin and fur.
He comes over and takes a sniff of the porridge. "I'm sure it is as wonderful as ever," he says. Then nods politely to everyone around and moves out of the way - notably not taking any of the offered food.
Finoan makes his way over to Bort. "Nothing noteworthy to report of during the night. How far do you expect to travel today?"
Late in the evening of before the caravan would leave Elidir, a newcomer came to the caravan. An orc from the Belkzen dressed in heavy chainmail, a wooden shield stylized in the fashion of what was once the nation of Lastwall. Now known as the Gravelands and the territory of the Whispering Tyrant. The large man, standing just shy of six and a half-feet tall, had talked to Bort Bargith before handing over a handful of copper pieces in exchange for protecting the caravan. Yellow eyes had studied the rest of the caravan before he quietly had taken his posts with the others. Over the last three days, his fellow travellers had learned precious little of the man. His name was Baradim and was a refugee like many others.
In the morning, Baradim climbed out from underneath the wagon and stretched out the aches that plagued his body. Rolling his neck until there was a crack of his joints, before gathering his weapons and armor. It was the same routine that showed the same amount of practice that Grunda and Tamli showed. With his longsword and dagger on his hip, crossbow upon his back underneath his shield. Tying up his hair in a top knot, Baradim would feel through his shaved sides for a moment, glad that he had shaved when pools of water and mirrors were far more common. The smell of savory porridge came over and drew the reclusive orc closer.
Baradim gave a grunt towards each person that came close, not an unfriendly sound for those that had been around him long enough. Taking a bowl of porridge, he would settle onto the ground and begin to eat merrily from the bowl. It was far more delicious than the gruel he had whenever serving patrols. He listened carefully to those that had gathered, large green ears twitching softly as he did.
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After speaking with the caravan master briefly, Finoan comes back to the cook's area over by the log Inniska is at. He settles himself down on the grass in the traditional kitty loaf shape and simply watches everyone intently.
Awaking at dawn, because that's just what he does, Drake rises from where he rests upon the ground next to the wagon. Popping his neck from one side to the other, he heads toward the voice. A fairly tall fellow - although not nearly as tall as the half-orc - wearing camouflage-like clothing that would blend in well with the forest.
Making his way toward the food, he finds the small cat-like creature interesting and watches it makes its way over next to the woman and take a seat. Taking a bowl, "Thanks, Cooky, you're the best," he nods, smiling, before making his way over to the eclectic group and finding his own place to sit.
Looking at them all as if studying them, he takes a spoonful of porridge. His thoughts then break each one down in a manner of fact manner. The fox/cat-like creature: Interesting. No doubt a curious one. Highly intelligent. Probably talkative. What is it? The woman: Attractive. Reserved. What else? The half-orc: Loud. Handy in a scrum. Hopefully, I don't piss him off.
Taking another spoon of his porridge and noticing it doesn't appear anyone wants to really talk, he raises his eyebrows and says, "My this is a quiet bunch. Name's McClain. Drake McClain. Any of you care to tell your story on why you're on this caravan?" he asks in a friendly-like and calm manner. "No worries if not. Just making small talk. I believe that's what people do around strangers in an attempt to lighten the awkwardness," he says, a slightly crooked grin forming as he takes another bite of porridge.
Finoan listens to Drake break the silence. "Well, good to meet you Drake. I am called Finoan. And very well, I will just come right out and ask."
"So tell me, my lovely pauper princess, what is it that you look behind us so nervously for?"
"Oh don't look at me like that. I can tell that you are not what you portray. I haven't decided whether you are a pauper trained in etiquette, or a princess running from your home. And honestly it really isn't my business. But I would like to know whether it is a ragtag bunch of thugs hired by a jilted suitor or the palace guards of some Varisian kingdom that you expect to see coming over the ridge."
Inniska smiled widely and laughed. "Quite an active imagination you have." When one was lying it was best to stay near the truth. "I am no princess, that much is certain. My mother and I did not part on good terms. I find my thoughts linger back there, that is all."
"I am Inniska. A pleasure to meet you all." With her slight Varisian accent it sounded like 'Ih-NEES-ka.' "While we are being so straightforward...may I ask what you are, exactly? I have never heard of anything like you." Deflecting to other topics often helped keep prying questions at bay, as well.
Drake looks at the cat-like creature, curious about its response to that question as well.
"Ah. Well, may you find better favor and better family of your choosing wherever you are headed then."
"As for myself, I am simply a relic of a long forgotten age. A Jistka soldier that is long overdue for my date with Pharasma."
"I am not surprised that you haven't heard of ones like me before. There aren't many left and for good reason. We lost the war a long time ago. There aren't many around here who have even heard of Jistka before."
He smiles a bit. "But anyway - enough of my ruminating. That isn't really what you are asking about anyway. I am a Jistka Automaton. A construct. At one point the height of Jistka Artifice and Magic. I was once human - oh so many lifetimes ago. Hand picked to be part of the new fleet of Automaton soldiers. We were designed to overcome the limits of the war golems - the lack of intelligence and proactive decision making, as well as being able to be healed by the normal mundane and magical means used on the human soldiers."
He shakes his head. "But like I said, we lost the war anyway. And I have been wandering the world since. A lost soul trapped in this most impressive of cages."
"A man made into machine. How horrific." The low rumble of the orc's voice filled the air as he finished his bowl of porridge. Putting it aside, he stared at his fellow travelers for a moment as he ruminated on a decision. Coming to a decision, he continued. "I am Baradim Walks-The-Earth. I come from what remains of Lastwall."
"Ah. Well, welcome then, fellow soldier of a lost battle."
Baradim merely nods at Finoan's words, though his hands reaches up to his neck. Hanging from it are over a dozen small chains with small holy symbols of Sarenrae and Iomadae upon them.
"What about you, Drake? We know your name. Why do you make for the south?" she asked with a cheerful tone. "Hopefully your tale is less depressing than all of ours?" she smiled.
"And I haven't forgotten about you, princess. There are still some things about you that don't quite add up right. But I'll not pry into your personal life as long as it doesn't sneak up on us in the middle of the night."
"But I am quite curious how you convinced Bort to let you join the caravan. Everyone here seems to be either crew or merchants. You don't appear to be a merchant. Or drive one of the wagons. So do you have some skill at fighting ravenous animals or brigands?"
She'd kept her powers secret her entire life. Lady Palina insisted. After all, what good was having a servant with secret powers if it wasn't a secret? Inniska could simply open a guest's door a bit while they slept and pick through their belongings looking for things to blackmail them with, never setting foot in the room. She could unsettle a slave trader's mind and give her mistress the advantage in negotiations. If people knew what she was capable of Palina's edge would vanish.
Well, she was not living under the horrible woman's thumb anymore.
"I've some skill, yes.". She latched on to the feeling of freedom that was welling within her. The hope for a better life. No more trickery, no more beatings. Wielding the emotions like a weapon, she twisted her wrist, twirling her fingers with a flourish. Her hand glowed softly, warmly, her optimism made manifest. A nearby rock rose from the ground and hovered a foot or so above her palm for a moment, then she thrust out her arm and launched it at high speed away from the camp, where it wouldn't hit anyone.
She smiled at the curious automaton and returned to eating her porridge.
Finoan watches with interest as Inniska demonstrates her abilities.
"Well, princess. You certainly are full of surprises." He chuckles a bit. "I'm certain that my curiosity will get me killed someday."
He turns his eyes back to Drake. "Sorry for interrupting the lady's question."
"A man made into machine. How horrific." The low rumble of the orc's voice filled the air as he finished his bowl of porridge. Putting it aside, he stared at his fellow travelers for a moment as he ruminated on a decision. Coming to a decision, he continued. "I am Baradim Walks-The-Earth. I come from what remains of Lastwall."
Nodding, "Well met, Baradim. And I can't say I disagree with that sentiment," he states matter-of-factly.
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Just as he's about to respond to the lady, he's interrupted by the automaton. Waiting until he's finished...
Finoan watches with interest as Inniska demonstrates her abilities. [b]
"Well, princess. You certainly are full of surprises." He chuckles a bit. "I'm certain that my curiosity will get me killed someday."He turns his eyes back to Drake. "Sorry for interrupting the lady's question."
Grinning at the extremely talkative and highly inquisitive cat machine, "Oh I'm sure it will. I can honestly say I wouldn't be shocked. But it won't be by me so no worries there," he shoots a wink over at Inniska...
"What about you, Drake? We know your name. Why do you make for the south?" she asked with a cheerful tone. "Hopefully your tale is less depressing than all of ours?" she smiled.
... before fully turning his attention to her. Narrowing his eyes and appearing to be in thought as if trying to sort something out, he finally responds with, "I'm going to see my uncle. Uncle John. Real good guy. He's retired now with a place just off the coast but worked for the town guard. One time during his career he found himself caught up in a hostage situation from a group that, word was, possibly had connections to Sczarni. He was doing his rounds and they obviously never accounted for him. He heard screams and went to work. Didn't hesitate a beat. He wound up singlehandedly bringing them all down. Never found out of any connections though because Uncle didn't leave one alive. Before my time." He shrugs.
He cuts his attention back to the cat machine and ponders asking it a question but hesitates, afraid they may never get another word in edge-wise. Biting the bullet, "Hey, cat, why do you keep calling Ineeska 'princess'?" A curious look then overcomes him and he looks back to Inniska as the cat responds, talking quietly over at her. "Am I saying that right? Is that right?"
"Hey, cat, why do you keep calling Ineeska 'princess'?"
"Hah. A harmless affectation. Certainly not intended as an insult," he says as he turns back to Inniska. "I can hear you stirring and sleeping fitfully during the night, so I presume that you are not accustomed to sleeping outdoors. Your manners are impeccable. With finer clothes, a herald, and a page you could probably fit in as a princess without any difficulty. Yet here you are roughing it out in the wilds. You also make no demands of us and accept what you are given gratefully. I wish more princesses would behave like that."
"So it is a bit of a puzzle. As I mentioned earlier, the best I can come up with is someone from a merchant family who has been trained in proper etiquette, or a noble of some form running from your home - though I am not certain of either of those conclusions. So the nickname - our pauper princess."
"Hah. A harmless affectation. Certainly not intended as an insult," he says as he turns back to Inniska. "I can hear you stirring and sleeping fitfully during the night, so I presume that you are not accustomed to sleeping outdoors. Your manners are impeccable. With finer clothes, a herald, and a page you could probably fit in as a princess without any difficulty. Yet here you are roughing it out in the wilds. You also make no demands of us and accept what you are given gratefully. I wish more princesses would behave like that."
"So it is a bit of a puzzle. As I mentioned earlier, the best I can come up with is someone from a merchant family who has been trained in proper etiquette, or a noble of some form running from your home - though I am not certain of either of those conclusions. So the nickname - our pauper princess."
"Well now I've got another question for you, Fin. Mind if I call you, Fin? Why does this drive you so? Is it a puzzle because you've turned it into one or am I missing something?" he genuinely asks.
Finoan shrugs. "I have to do something to keep the boredom at bay. I will certainly not disagree with Baradim saying that my fate is rather horrifying. If I knew what would become of us, I would never have agreed to the process." He looks off in the distance - staring at nothing at all. "They told us we would be national heroes - forever. ... Sometimes I do get very bored. And lonely. ... "
He shakes his head and turns his attention back to Drake. "But yes, you may call me Fin if you feel the desire. And my analysis of our lovely princess here is simply out of rampant curiosity and a desire to do something during the day - and night."
Smiling, "Fair enough. And you shouldn't consider yourself lonely, Fin. You've got me, Baradim who Walks-The-Earth, the lo...," he halts instantly, just managing to catch what he was about to say as he angles his head to the side while looking as if he just bit straight into a lemon, "Ineeska - who you've already deemed a 'princess' whether she is or not - and not to mention Cooky and a few others. Plenty of folks here to keep you company, Fin," he nods before finishing off the rest of his food.
Finoan makes his way over to Bort. "Nothing noteworthy to report of during the night. How far do you expect to travel today?"
Bort pauses his inspection, his mustaches moving to frame a large, toothy grin in response to the automaton’s words. “Good, good, good…well, we’ll be at a pit stop by the evenin’, but I’ll tell ya more before we get movin’. I'd rather tell everyone at once, eh?” The dwarf chuckles good-naturedly, waving his hand towards your wagon while he finishes double-checking his inventory.
Smiling, "Fair enough. And you shouldn't consider yourself lonely, Fin. You've got me, Baradim who Walks-The-Earth, the lo...," he halts instantly, just managing to catch what he was about to say as he angles his head to the side while looking as if he just bit straight into a lemon, "Ineeska - who you've already deemed a 'princess' whether she is or not - and not to mention Cooky and a few others. Plenty of folks here to keep you company, Fin," he nods before finishing off the rest of his food.
"Plenty of company," a voice chimes in from behind Drake, bemused. "Brother, you owe me a silver." The twin teamsters you've been sharing a wagon with are standing close by, listening in while enjoying their breakfast. The one who spoke sports a bit of a five-o'clock shadow along his face, the only real feature that distinguishes the two brothers from one another. You think he might be Olf…? The two never seem to solidly confirm or deny which brother they are.
The bare-faced brother (Ulf, presumably) rolls his eyes and tosses a silver coin at his twin, who catches it deftly and begins to flip it in the air. "Knew you weren't just any kind of cat." Olf? says with a chuckle, winking at Finoan.
Ulf’s face then splits into a wide grin, holding his hand out to his twin, pointing at Inniska. "Oy, Olf. Gimme that back. Turns out the gal can speak more than a few words at a time." Olf rolls his eyes with equal drama and tosses the silver coin back. They both turn their gazes back onto the group of you, eyes sparkling with amusement.
”Glad to hear you all can finally talk,” Olf says, scraping the last bit of porridge out of his bowl.
”Been a lonlier-than-usual trip with all the silence,” Ulf adds, bringing a hand to his chest and staring at the sky with no small amount of melodrama. "We had to resort to guessing games."
Finoan stands up and bows with a smile. "Indeed. Well deduced. I am in fact not any kind of cat. And I quite enjoy a good guessing game."
"Speaking of which, how much time do we have before we need to move out? I am guessing about 10 minutes or so. Am I close?"
Finoan stands up and bows with a smile. "Indeed. Well deduced. I am in fact not any kind of cat. And I quite enjoy a good guessing game."
"Speaking of which, how much time do we have before we need to move out? I am guessing about 10 minutes or so. Am I close?"
Olf nods, stacking his bowl with his brother's and hitching up his belt a tad. "Aye, better make sure you're packed and ready to go soon."
Ulf smiles toothily at the group. "We'll be sleeping in real beds tonight!"
Inniska chuckled at Drake's overemphasis of her name. "You may call me Niss, if you like." It was what her parents had called her, when she was young. It would be nice to hear it again.
"Or Princess," she added with a wink to Finoan. "And if inventing explanations for my manners keeps you entertained, who am I to rob you of that joy?"
She listened to the brothers as they came over with their friendly taunts. "Well perhaps we merely thought others were doing enough talking for the lot of us." She gave them a faux imperious look that broke into a smile.
"We'll be sleeping in real beds tonight!"
Finoan's ears perk up at that. "Oh indeed? It has been a while since I have been through this area. What town or wayside rest area are we going to arrive at by tonight? I seriously doubt that we are going to make it all the way to Almas by then."
Inniska chuckled at Drake's overemphasis of her name. "You may call me Niss, if you like." It was what her parents had called her, when she was young. It would be nice to hear it again.
Grinning somewhat red-faced, "Niss it is then," he gives a nod to the victor.
She listened to the brothers as they came over with their friendly taunts. "Well perhaps we merely thought others were doing enough talking for the lot of us." She gave them a faux imperious look that broke into a smile.
Drake breaks into a smile at Inniska's retort before looking back at the brothers. "Hard to argue that one, Oaf and Umph," he jests, shooting them a wink.
She listened to the brothers as they came over with their friendly taunts. "Well perhaps we merely thought others were doing enough talking for the lot of us." She gave them a faux imperious look that broke into a smile.
Ulf dramatically holds his hand to his heart, barely suppressing a grin. "Oh, lovely princess, you wound me." Olf raises an eyebrow at his brother's melodrama, then grins at Drake in response to the tease.
"He does love the sound of his own voice." Olf says about his brother, turning his attention to Finoan. "Bort will be coming any second to talk to us about it." He jerks his chin in the direction of the caravan master, who was beginning to make his way over, accompanied by the stern-looking half-orc woman, Tamli, and the caravan's carpenter, Gregor; none of whom you've really gotten to know that well so far.
Cooky was about finished packing back up his gear, not bothering to join in. Grunda seemed to be doing something similar, getting the horses ready to go and pointedly ignoring the gathering. Nobody seemed to make a move to get either to join; it seemed this was their norm.
Bort grins his wide, mustachioed grin at the group, hands fisted on his hips. "We'll be makin' a stop in Etran's Folly tonight. Should be there before nightfall. Real beds, good food. 'S little turnipy, but Amora sure knows her way around the root!" Bort pats his belly, chuckling a bit. "Have a delivery to make, then we'll be off to Almas in the morn'. Be ready to move in ten, eh?" Bort moves off before anyone can reply, and Tamli looks at the twin brothers meaningfully, gesturing sharply for them to get moving. Gregor simply winks at Inniska, then goes to take his place at the lead wagon with Bort.
After the others have left, the twins share a knowing look between them and chuckle, shaking their heads, and then look around at the four of you as they begin to make their final preparations to leave. "Well, you heard the man...off to Plaguestone as soon as you all are ready."
At the notice of leaving in ten minutes, Inniska hurries to finish her meal, which she'd been ignoring during their conversation. Her manners slip a bit by necessity, shoveling in the food like someone who is used to going hungry and snatching opportune meals whenever possible. She wonders why the carpenter fellow winked at her for a moment.
At the brothers' final comment, she stops, spoon halfway to her mouth, and asks, with her mouth full, "Plaguestone?" She swallows. "Is there...a sickness in Etran's Folly?"
"We'll be makin' a stop in Etran's Folly tonight."
Finoan remembers back to the labels marked on the cargo. "Ah, that's what those mean."
"Plaguestone?" She swallows. "Is there...a sickness in Etran's Folly?"
That grabs Finoan's attention fully. He turns and watches the two brothers intently for their reaction to the question as well as their answer.
Baradim had little to chitchat or add for now. Yet at the teasing of one another, the faintest shadow of what could have possibly been a smile creeps onto his face before he stands up once more. Gathering the empty bowls, he nods to Cooky.
"I'll clean them. Thank you." With a pot of water, the orc gets to work while quietly listening in on the others. Plaguestone had a nefarious name but having lived next to Ustalav, dour names were not uncommon.
Baradim had little to chitchat or add for now. Yet at the teasing of one another, the faintest shadow of what could have possibly been a smile creeps onto his face before he stands up once more. Gathering the empty bowls, he nods to Cooky.
"I'll clean them. Thank you." With a pot of water, the orc gets to work while quietly listening in on the others. Plaguestone had a nefarious name but having lived next to Ustalav, dour names were not uncommon.
Cooky only nods and grunts in reply, but you catch a slightly approving look in his eye, just briefly.
"Plaguestone?" She swallows. "Is there...a sickness in Etran's Folly?"That grabs Finoan's attention fully. He turns and watches the two brothers intently for their reaction to the question as well as their answer.
Olf and Ulf share another look between them, seeming to have a silent conversation that only twins can really have, until finally, Ulf looks back at the group with a sigh. "No, not currently. There was one around 20 years ago...almost wiped out the entire town. They haven't really ever gotten back to how they were before. Too much death."
"The locals don't love the nickname 'Plaguestone' either, to be honest." Olf says, smoothly weaving himself into the conversation with his brother, hardly skipping a beat. "We'll be in beds, but they're not feather beds or anything."
"Kind of stinks there, too." Ulf adds on, grimacing. The brothers glance at each other again and shrug. "It'll be dry, though. And ale!" He continues, his face breaking into a wide, reassuring grin.
"The locals don't love the nickname 'Plaguestone' either, to be honest."
Relieved and trying not to overly show it, Finoan comments on the name of the town. "Hah. Probably not. But I can't imagine that they are completely thrilled with the name Etran's Folly either."
He then starts helping to break down the campsite and get things ready to roll out.
Baradim washes the bowls with a meticulous eye, scraping off leftover meals before rinsing it clean. Each bowl and spoon is looked over with a soldier's precision, they were likely the cleanest that they had ever been when someone else washed them. Lastwall was particular about discipline and that had been drilled into the orc ever since he joined their ranks. Even afterwards, the habits still remained.
"Drinks and beds sound good." Baradim adds, shouldering up his pack and moving towards where the wagons waited with arms folded and dark eyes scanning the horizon.
Baradim had little to chitchat or add for now. Yet at the teasing of one another, the faintest shadow of what could have possibly been a smile creeps onto his face before he stands up once more. Gathering the empty bowls, he nods to Cooky.
As Baradim collects the empty bowls, "Thanks, Baradim."
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Stroking his chin in thought at the information brought by the brothers, "Plaguestone, huh? Sounds charming," he deadpans. The ranger then moves to gather his things to prepare to leave.
Once that's accomplished, he makes his way over to Baradim, staring out into the horizon right along with him for several moments before finally asking, "What do you see, Baradim?"
As the caravan is preparing to get underway, Finoan spends a bit of time checking over each of the wagons. He takes a bit of extra time on the ones with the cargo headed towards Etran's Folly.
▸ What's in the Etran's Folly box?
▸
Cooky
After speaking with the half-orc, Drake makes his way over to Cooky, grinning somewhat wryly. "Hey, 'Cooky', that's not your real name is it? I mean, that's kind of a funny name for a guy, don't you think? I gather it's just a moniker, right?" Crossing his arms and stroking his chin with two fingers, "If I had to guess, I'd say your name is 'Joe'. Am I right?"
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Inniska
Once he manages to avoid Cooky beating him to death with a frying pan - I know, right? Frying pans. Who knew?! - he makes his way over to Inniska. "Hey, Niss, I just wanted to say I thought that was interesting how you moved that rock with...," he thinks on it a moment before, "some type of magic? Usually magic involves words but I noticed you didn't say anything and I can't fathom what else it could've been. So I guess you could say Fin's curiosity has gotten the better of me," he grins, shrugging guiltily. "If that's too personal a question then simply forget I asked," he tells her kindly. "Like I said, nothing more than a bit of curiosity."
After speaking with the half-orc, Drake makes his way over to Cooky, grinning somewhat wryly. "Hey, 'Cooky', that's not your real name is it? I mean, that's kind of a funny name for a guy, don't you think? I gather it's just a moniker, right?" Crossing his arms and stroking his chin with two fingers, "If I had to guess, I'd say your name is 'Joe'. Am I right?"
Cooky would never actually hit anyone with a frying pan, but the older elf certainly wasn't above making it look like he would, moving one hand carefully towards the handle of the cast iron cookware and then slapping the bottom against the palm of his other hand. He doesn't answer Drake, just raises an eyebrow. He maintains eye contact with Drake for as long as the man can take it, slapping the cast iron into his palm over and over again at a steady rhythm.
As the caravan is preparing to get underway, Finoan spends a bit of time checking over each of the wagons. He takes a bit of extra time on the ones with the cargo headed towards Etran's Folly.
Finoan finally lets his curiosity get the better of him. He glances around. Not seeing anyone looking his way, he quickly lifts the lid of one of the crates just a smidgen. He takes a quick glance and closes it back up again.
Cooky would never actually hit anyone with a frying pan, but the older elf certainly wasn't above making it look like he would, moving one hand carefully towards the handle of the cast iron cookware and then slapping the bottom against the palm of his other hand. He doesn't answer Drake, just raises an eyebrow. He maintains eye contact with Drake for as long as the man can take it, slapping the cast iron into his palm over and over again at a steady rhythm.
Grinning, and with a look of COMPLETE understanding, "Fair enough. You're the best, Cooky." The ranger quickly walks away... very quickly.
Once he manages to avoid Cooky beating him to death with a frying pan - I know, right? Frying pans. Who knew?! - he makes his way over to Inniska. "Hey, Niss, I just wanted to say I thought that was interesting how you moved that rock with...," he thinks on it a moment before, "some type of magic? Usually magic involves words but I noticed you didn't say anything and I can't fathom what else it could've been. So I guess you could say Fin's curiosity has gotten the better of me," he grins, shrugging guiltily. "If that's too personal a question then simply forget I asked," he tells her kindly. "Like I said, nothing more than a bit of curiosity."
She smiled at him and thought for a moment how to answer. She'd only ever really tried explaining it once, and her mistress had only been interested in the possible uses, not the how of things.
"It's magic, of a sort. I don't think it's the conventional kind though, you're right. I just sort of...focus intense emotions. Doesn't seem to matter which ones. It lets me exert a force over a distance..." she grinned mischievously, "...or even speak into others' minds." she imparted the last words directly into his consciousness, her mouth not moving, though the warm glow briefly appeared around her again, almost seeming like a trick of the daylight.
She smiled at him and thought for a moment how to answer. She'd only ever really tried explaining it once, and her mistress had only been interested in the possible uses, not the how of things.
"It's magic, of a sort. I don't think it's the conventional kind though, you're right. I just sort of...focus intense emotions. Doesn't seem to matter which ones. It lets me exert a force over a distance..." she grinned mischievously, "...or even speak into others' minds." she imparted the last words directly into his consciousness, her mouth not moving, though the warm glow briefly appeared around her again, almost seeming like a trick of the daylight.
Hearing her voice while not seeing her lips move at all, the ranger's eyes go a bit wide as he finds himself slightly taken aback. "I've gotta say, that was... interesting. And different. Definitely different than what I've ever experienced. But still interesting. You can 'talk' to our minds," he concludes, sounding quite impressed. I wonder if she can 'read' my mind too? If so, when I thought the word 'attractive' about her from earlier, she may very well have 'heard' that. And now that I've just confessed I find her attractive AGAIN, she may very well have heard THAT. Oh man, there could be no end to this. That might pose a problem. The last thing I want is for her to feel uncomfortable around me. It's not my intention for sure. How was I to know she could potentially delve into thoughts? Only one way to find out I guess. Smiling at her as he crosses his arms, "Now, seeing how you can talk to my mind, can I respond back to you in the same way? Or is it just a one-way type thing or what?"
She smiled, seeming oblivious of his inner thoughts, far as he could tell at least. "If you do so right after, yes, you can reply to my message, and I'll hear it." Glowing again, her words entered his mind. "Would you like to try? Go ahead, think anything back at me that you want."
She did not have anything to pack up, really, so she didn't mind spending the last few minutes in friendly conversation. She was honestly having fun using her abilities in a harmless way, for once.
The caravan’s crew wraps up their preparations and you begin to move along the road through Isger again towards Etran’s Folly. You are either up in the front with Ulf and Olf, keeping pace with the caravan on your own, or in the wagon itself. If you are in the wagon, it’s covered and Cooky is in there too, but Cooky is laying back in a corner, appearing to be asleep.
The caravan moves at a decent pace, but the ride is bumpy. This stretch of road isn’t very well-maintained and it’s muddy from the on-and-off rains you’ve been experiencing for the past several days. The heat is rising slowly with the sun, casting a sticky, humid feel over the entire day.
Several hours into the trip, past noon, Gregor calls from the front of the caravan, “Up ahead is Plaguestone!” and you hear a mild admonishment from Bort at the use of the moniker. You see, on the horizon, still a ways away, the outline of a small village up ahead. “Half an hour!” Gregor calls again. No sooner does the call fade from his lips than it is overshadowed by a series of long, mournful howls emanating from the woods to either side of the caravan. Moments later, you hear Grunda shouting, “Wolves!” with surprise, scrambling to calm the horses.
The teamsters, Bort, and Gregor all spring into action, working to calm the horses. Tamli joins in the effort and barks back at your wagon, ”Time to earn your keep - handle this while we keep the horses from bolting!”
As she speaks, a pack of three wolves emerges from the forest, snarling and snapping at the caravan. You can see their ribcages poking out from their mangy fur and even see the fleas and parasites bouncing off of the wolves’ skin as they approach.
Block 1: Finoan, Inniska, Green Wolf
Block 2: Red & Blue wolf
Block 3: Drake, Baradim
Mangy Wolf, Green
The first wolf darts forward, growling and slobbering wildly, and snaps at Baradim.
----------The Journey----------
Inniska changes it up every so often. She begins riding in the wagon, until the jostling annoys her too much to continue, then walks for a while, until her feet, unused to long hikes on poor roads, send her back to the wagon again. She doesn't mind the heat terribly, used to time spent in kitchens under similar conditions. Inniska has rarely had the chance to talk with friendly folks, and she's genuinely enjoying herself. After all, she's free for the first time since she was a small child. Now that the ice was broken, her shyness had vanished.
-----------The Fight--------------
Iniska almost doesn't note the howling, having grown accustomed to animal sounds being ignored by most of the folks in the caravan. Then it becomes clear this might be the time to start worrying.
She hops off the wagon and moves to where she can see what's happening just in time to see one of the wolves leaping at Baradim. A spike of fear threatens to overwhelm her, but that's an emotion she's very familiar with, and she forces it under her control. Unlike the glowing warmth that surrounded her earlier mental displays, a sheen of illusory frost seems to crystallize up her arms and across her face as she uses the cold terror to her advantage.
One arm aims in the direction of the wolf attacking Baradim, careful not to hit him with what she was about to do, and the other she flings towards the northernmost animal. Her wrists begin rotating about, fingers curled into claws, and a swirl of debris from the road flies up into a pair of miniature cyclones of rocks, branches, and dirt, pelting the wolves. She strains her abilities doing so, adding an extra burst of speed before the flying detritus falls back to the ground.
One of the mangy wolves winces, whines, and collapses in a heap. The other in front of Baradim, however, just growls low, its eyes snapping to Niss' position, not receiving the full brunt of the damage.
As the first wolf goes down, you hear a rustling to the north, just behind the caravan, and another wolf emerges - this one larger than the others, dripping green, caustic liquid from its maw.
Finoan tends to walk along side the wagons. He occasionally engages in idle chat with the other people in the caravan.
Finoan hears the howls and looks around, seeing wolves come out of the forest on the other side of the wagon. He takes a second or two to analyze their movements and plan his approach.
"Heh, he won't be expecting this."
Finoan clambers over the tongue of the wagon and approaches the targeted wolf. "Rhaaa hahaha" he yells as he brings his claws to bear.
"Nothing. Everything. I'm not quite sure." Baradim replied to the man after a long silence. When the wagon is ready to begin moving, Baradim finds his way just behind it and plods carefully to avoid losing his footing in the ruts it leaves behind in the soft, freshly wettened dirt. Throughout the travel, Baradom simply keeps his eyes open for danger and ends up maneuvering around the wagon; sometimes in the back and sometimes in the front. He keeps to himself as always but he doesn't stop anyone from talking to him. You can even swear that occasionally he nods to keep the conversation going.
They were nearly there before there was the sound of howls coming from every side of them, bringing a growl that vibrated low in the orc's throat. His eyes scanned the woods when the three mangy hounds leapt out to attack, one coming straight for him. The beast leapt up to attack and it was only due to quick thinking that Baradim put his arm between its teeth rather than letting it get to his throat.
"Get off of " the warrior roared, throwing it off of him with impressive strength as dark red blood dripped down his arms.
The parasites and fleas do little to bother the orc; they had obviously never been in an orc hold before. The strange cat-machine pounces upon the next foe, slaying the wolf closest to him. With a nod of thanks, Baradim moves quickly towards where this caustic, vicious beast was.
"Princess, behind me." Baradim orders, moving in and bringing down his sword against its frame. As he does, he readies his shield defensively.